


Hands Dirty

by lovelyleias



Category: Antigone - Anouilh, Greek and Roman Mythology, Oedipus Cycle - Sophocles
Genre: Greek Mythology - Freeform, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Minor Character(s), Missing Scene, Sophocles - Freeform, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 01:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyleias/pseuds/lovelyleias
Summary: Ismene is not brave, but perhaps she can pretend.





	Hands Dirty

The guards have yet to seal the cave. The large stone before it has been left pushed aside by order of the king. My fingers tremble as I place my hand on its cool surface. I need to go inside, but I do not want to see what I know lies in the darkness. My mother used to throw her hands in the air when I was young and prone to hiding behind her skirts when I felt shy, which was far too often.

_“Ismene, you are much too old for that. Be brave, like your sister.”_

Antigone would laugh with a haughty toss of her honey-coloured hair.

_“She does not know how.”_

She was right. My mother and sister were both women of courage and conviction, while I have only ever been timid and faltering. I am not brave, but perhaps I can pretend. I breathe deeply, and step inside.

Light streams thinly through the entrance, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. Every step I take feels as if stones have been tied to my shoes. I want to close my eyes and run from this place of death, but now that I have begun I cannot stop. There is so much blood splattered on the cave walls and on the ground, like an altar after a sacrifice. Haemon’s sword lies abandoned in the dirt, coated black with its master’s dried blood. My belly churns, and I taste bile. A terrible creaking noise comes from the centre of the room, and I do not want to look, but I must, I _must_.

My sister’s body swings gently from the rope like an autumn leaf still clinging to a tree. Antigone had been beautiful in life and always spent hours in her room playing with cosmetics and mirrors, but now her eyes bulge from their sockets and her face is swollen and purple. How she would hate it. A sob escapes my lips as I reach out and take her cold hand. I failed her in life, but perhaps I can please her in death.

She was taller than me, so I struggle to pull her down. She jerks horribly every time I tug on the rope, but finally I loosen the knot and she falls free. I put my knuckles in my mouth and bite down as the body hits the floor with a dull thud, to prevent myself from screaming. I can’t stop now, I have work to do.

The earth does not like when I tear at it. Each handful of dirt I steal brings agony upon me. The skin on my hands rips and bleeds. My fingernails tear off at the roots and I moan with pain every time earth touches the unbearably sensitive skin underneath. I could have used Haemon’s blade to help cut through the hard-packed dirt, but it feels right that I should suffer. My task is endless, and the sun sets and the sky turns dark before I am close to finishing. I whisper prayers to whatever god might hear them, although I am sure that they turned their backs on my family the moment my father halted in front of Laius’ chariot.

When I am finished, I pull Antigone into the hole by her underarms. I don’t look at her bloated face as I push the dirt on top of her lifeless body, I don’t say goodbye.

I tremble from pain and exhaustion when Antigone is finally swallowed by the earth. I should feel satisfaction upon completing my gruesome task, but I don’t. I collapse on top of her grave, and with the last of my strength I reach for the hilt of Haemon’s sword. My arms shake as my ruined hands lift the blade, and I distantly hear the harsh panting of my own breath.

Let the curse on the house of Oedipus end.

I am not brave, but I can pretend.


End file.
